Naono Bohra Series 2a: Slave of Love
by FrUKtheWorld
Summary: Based off of a doujinshi by the same name, Arthur is the manager of a host club owned by Francis. But is there something bubbling below the surface of Escape? Is Arthur even free as he thinks he is? Or is he just a slave... Full warning inside story
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Hihi all! Lookey, I'mma wri'in' again! =D Anyways, this is a fanfiction based offa a FABULOUS (and ORIGINAL…well original as far as I know) doujinshi by the marvelous Bohra Naono, called "A Coward's Happiness". This fanfiction is centered and based on the second and third story in that doujinshi called "A Slave of Love" and "Revenge of Love"._

_Alright, let's see, this is a FrUK, AmeriCan (that is what I call AmericaxCanada xDD), and lotsa other yaoi-ness and smutty-ness. And there are a few OCs in later chapters, I will have their bios up so you're all not like WTF. AND THIS IS A FREAKIN' PAMPLEMOUSSE (anyone who guesses what that is correctly gets a cookie) MEANING IT HAS SMUT~ YAAAY!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers & Hetalia: World Series, nor do I own "A Coward's Happiness" and the stories therein. They are owned by their respective owners, and I merely write and worship those creators' genius. That is all._

_Message me for link to the actual doujinshi that inspired this series._

**_WARNINGS: _**_Contains:_

Anal - Anal Sex

Angst - Torment/Anguish

BDSM - Bondage/Discipline/Sadomasochism

Bi - Bisexuality

Blood - Violence to the point of drawing blood

Fingering - manual manipulation of the sexual organs

H/C - Hurt/Comfort

HJ - Hand Job (manual stimulation of one partner's sexual organ)

M/F - Het (heterosexual relations)

M/M - Slash (Male/Male relationship)

OC - Original Characters

Oral - Oral sex

RapeFic/Non-Con - where one of the characters is sexually assaulted

Rim - Rimming (To perform anilingus on)

Solo - Masturbation

Toys - Sexual toys

UST - Unresolved Sexual Tension

Violence - Story contains violence/blood/gore/etc.

Voy - Voyeurism

* * *

><p><strong>Bohra Series 2a:<strong>

**A Slave of Love**

**Chapter One: "Client Services"**

Tap. Tap.

No, it was nothing. Not while there was so much work to do.

Tap. Tap.

Not. Right. Now. There was too much the club needed, and he, being the manager, needed to get things done.

Arthur blinked, the tapping on his shoulder unceasing. Begrudgingly, he looked up from his clipboard, turning to face the one who dared interrupt his work.

"Oi, bloody hell Alfred! Can't you see I've got work to do?" he screeched, the vein in his forehead beginning to throb.

Comically, the one called Alfred bent forward, cupping his hand secretively near his mouth, as to ward away anyone who possibly might want to over hear (or worse lipread) what the dull-witted American had to say. Fittingly, his wheat-gold hair fell over his sky blue eyes, which twinkled with the threat of a possible secret.

"Hey...Arty-"

"Don't call me Arty!" The older interrupted, his vein throbbing even more,

"Whatever! It shouldn't matter what I call you! All that matters is that I'm quitting my part time job today!"

The native Brit took pause after the taller blonde's comment, in disbelief that words had even been uttered. "Hell no!" was his immediate response, "What the hell is this all of a sudden?"

Alfred's cheeks became heated, a soft smile tugging on his lips, "Well,"he replied in a voice as soft and as light as his smile, "I have a lover- W-Whoa!"

It was in times like these that the smaller man showed exceptional strength, dragging Alfred into the back room as if he were a pull toy.

"What do you mean you have a lover?" was the first thing that was said once they were in the secure area, free from any unwanted eavesdroppers and kiss-asses who had it out for either himself or Alfred. "One of our lady customers? A client! Really, Alfred, I thought we told you-"

"No, no!" Alfred interjected, shaking his head to further his point, "Not a client. The son of my landlord! He also runs a little diner in town! He doesn't like me working here and he said that if I _had_ to have a part-time job while I'm in school I could go work for him! And that's the story of why I am quitting." He had a shit-eating grin once again plastered to his face, as if this was his life's accomplishment, not as if he was possibly committing professional (and personal) suicide.

Standing there, the Englishman's thick eyebrows began to furrow until they nearly shadowed his eyes. After a moment of utter silence, he finally let out a sigh, rubbing his temple to ease his throbbing forehead.

He had no idea why this fool even wanted to quit? It was a guaranteed job as long as he remained as attractive as he was. Even Arthur knew that the man in charge had an eye for pretty, young things (much to his chagrin, but he would never let the Owner know that). And Alfred was certainly attractive. He was tall, even for a young man of only 19, and he had a slender frame that cleverly hid his inhuman, and often stupid strength. His demeanor was that of a country-raised farm boy, polite and hard-working, which never failed to impress his clients and earn the doting admiration of every middle-aged woman who came into the club. In layman's terms, he was a catch, and there was NO WAY that the man in charge would let someone like him go so easily.

"Alfred, you know for a fact that you're that man's favorite. He _handpicked _you-" He made sure to stress this word to get the other to understand the severity of his words, "_you, _to be a Host at this club. That means for some reason that seems to escape me he likes you. And you should know that he will NOT allow this. And I know for a fact you know how scary he can be. Any place that has a man or woman that pleases him, he'll drive it into bankruptcy and take it over within the month, and when he gets tired of it, he'll sell it off. And worse, if he gets tired of a host or hostess, he'll fire them, no questions asked. So, no, I can't allow it. In any case, if I let you, then I'll get in a lot of trouble too, and I can't afford-"

"B-but…" A despondent pout took place of the once love-struck smile.

"Y-You know I don't have a choice!" Arthur blurted out. Honestly, how could Alfred expect him to do anything other than what was given to him as his task. The blasted yank should know where his loyalties lie, yet here he was, having this conversation anyways. In truth, he shouldn't even think of the possibility of offering a possible way for Alfred to worm his way into getting fired... but his eyes. He was so hurt and so desperate to live life with his new-found lover, and something about that spoke out to Arthur, though he himself was in no such situation. A elongated sigh emitted from his lips, and he slowly rubbed his temples, "but… If you do your job horribly, you can't control what Mr. Bonnefoy does afterwards, right?"

Alfred's smiled returned and he nodded fast, running to the door. "Yeah! Thanks so much!" he answered, before speeding back to his post. Arthur followed slowly, running his hair through his messy blond hair.

Really, what was that Alfred thinking? Again, Arthur sighed, shaking his head. It was getting too hot in here. Taking a quick assessment of the main room, he decided he could have a few moments of peace to himself, and he walked into the bathroom. It was fairly empty which meant that he could have a few moments of peace. His fingers traced the mock-crystal handles to the sink before he pulled on one, cold water falling gently from the spout. He cupped his small hands together, pooling a bit of the water before splashing some on his face.

"Hn... I guess I could be good-looking too...if I tried." Arthur muttered to no one, looking himself over in the mirror. After making a few comical faces, he chuckled, shaking his head a bit. "I guess green eyes can be popular too. Blue eyes aren't all that great... " He grabbed his chin, turning to get a few different profile glances at himself, "A-and girls like a baby face-"

'_A feminine face'_ came his inner-voice, and he shook his head, trying to shake that thought from his mind.

"Wow...I need a haircut." Arthur tugged on his hair a bit, pouting at the shaggy mess that topped his head.

"So, do you mind telling me What was all that about?"

A shriek came from his Arthur's throat, his eyes wide as he finally noticed the owner's reflection in the mirror. How had he not noticed him? "M-Mister Bonnefoy! I-I thought you had business elsewhere today?" he stuttered out, in shock that the other man had decided to show up to work today.

It was odd that the french businessman had even showed up to work. Usually, he would spends his days with his 'contacts' scouting new recruits and new real estate, and his nights were spent at local bars, having a few drinks and getting to know a few of the local ladies.

"You telling me I cannot come to my own shop, Arthur?" The taller responded, standing up straight from his previous position, which was leaning against the wall. "that's very cruel of you. I thought I was the owner."

"No! I wasn't saying that!-"

"You didn't answer my question. What was all that about?" Business. Everything was business to Mister Bonnefoy.

Arthur looked over the face of his boss, trying to decide what was the best answer to his question. He could tell the older man was not in the mood for games from the way his lips contorted in its usual grimace, his periwinkle eyes gleaming dangerously. as if asking someone to even dare go against him once.

"Um… he just had a question about proper suit maintenance,"Arthur quickly lied, "I will be going over it with him tonight, so I will be unable to join you for dinner. Excuse me." Arthur bowed and left quickly, his heart pounding near out of his chest. This was not good. If Mr. Bonnefoy knew what had actually been discussed, both could lose their jobs, and maybe a few body parts on the way out.

The older, Mr. Bonnefoy, actually Francis by given name, followed his underling out of the restroom and stood by its door and watched Arthur sprint across the club, somehow managing not to bump into anyone as he did so. What was that man thinking? And why did he seem so nervous? Francis shook his head, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Hn. Only two left... Oh well. His need of nicotine far surpassed his desire to preserve the small tobacco sticks. Lighting one, he began to walk towards where Arthur had sprinted, seeing what the other was really up to.

Arthur had nearly knocked down Alfred when he rand up, grabbing the other by the scruff of his shirt before a client had the chance to walk up. Hurriedly, he began to tussle the other's clothing.

"Arty-" Alfred whined as he pushed against the smaller, "Stop! It took me all morning to get the tie right! I even had Matt help me!"

"Just shut up you great baboon! Let me do this and save BOTH our asses!" Arthur snapped back, finishing before they were in Francis's line of sight.

Francis walked up, looking at both of them with a grimace still on his face. "I see what you meant Arthur. He is unsightly. You are to show him the proper way to dress."

"Yes sir." the subordinate replied as he bowed his head to show acknowledgement to the other's command. It was all about modest submission to the command's given to him.

"Well, if that is how you are spending your night, then I am going out. Don't wait up and be sure to lock up."

With that, the Frenchman left, not noticing the lingering of the fern green eyes on his form.

Arthur couldn't help but sigh once again, his heart fluttering in his chest. He didn't understand why this always happened. Maybe his nerves were wound too tight? Perhaps tonight he should take a nice, soothing bath. Yes, thought should surely soothe his frazzled nerves.

"Hey Arty, I was wondering, are you and Mr. Bonnefoy going out?" asked Alfred innocently, a finger pressed comically to his lips as he thought. "I mean...You two live together."

Now Arthur was _definitely_ sure that his poor nerves had reached their limit. At this rate, if he was victim of one more surprise, he may very well have a heart attack and die. A bath would not suffice in calming him down, no now he would need something stronger, perhaps a drink. Most likely whiskey or scotch. With the sudden outburst, he had found himself stumbling back, eyes wide open and mouth agape, completely dumb-founded by the blatancy of the other's question, not knowing exactly how to answer.

Alfred took this silence as an okay to keep talking, and continued his thought process. "Well, again you two DO live together and you like…take care of his daily needs and stuff and you're ALWAYS watching him, dude So I just thought you two were going out or something. What, am I wrong?"

"Of course you're wrong you dull-witted wanker!" screamed the scrutinized man, as he fumbled into a nearby seat. "Mr. Bonnefoy and I are merely distant relatives. When I was a child, an unfortunate accident took my parents from me and he ended up taking me in and raising me. Now I stay by his side to return that kindness and perhaps pay him back for all that he has done for me." As the words staggered out of his mouth, he felt heat rising in his cheeks. "Th-that's all."

"Really?" responded Alfred, who stood lazily across from him.

"Y-yeah…i-is that really how you and everyone else perceives it? Do you all think that Mr. Bonnefoy and I are l-lovers?"

With that statement, Alfred's usual smile grew into a more wicked, mischievous smirk. "I never said lovers," he remarked, "so that means you DO like him."

The brit rose from his chair as if it were on fire. "N-no! No I don't! Don't say that!"

Alfred let out a laugh, and he hit his new friend on the back hard. "Don't worry! I won't tell anyone!"

"Tell anyone what? There's nothing to tell! Just keep quiet!" Arthur protested, bringing a shaking hand to his throbbing forehead. "B-besides...even if **I** liked Mr. Bonnefoy...I am just the manager in his club...n-nothing else..."

"So...you do like him."

"Drop it."

"But."

"I said. Drop. It." For the first time, venom laced Arthur's words and he glared a hole through the other's chest, all signs warning the younger to not test the older's patience.

Alfred nodded, sighing and shrugging. "Whatever. But thanks for the advice, gonna get back to my customers now. Bye!"

Arthur sat alone when Alfred ran off and he tried to take in a deep breath. This frightened Arthur a little bit… this man now knew something about him he had tried to hide for years…this could NOT end well.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get out! Between work and school, I am DEAD! Anyways, this is a fanfiction based offa a FABULOUS (and ORIGINAL…well original as far as I know) doujinshi by the marvelous Bohra Naono, called "A Coward's Happiness". This fanfiction is centered and based on the second and third story in that doujinshi called "A Slave of Love" and "Revenge of Love"._

_Alright, let's see, this is a FrUK, AmeriCan (that is what I call AmericaxCanada xDD), and lotsa other yaoi-ness and smutty-ness. And there are a few OCs in later chapters, I will have their bios up so you're all not like WTF. AND THIS IS A FREAKIN' PAMPLEMOUSSE (anyone who guesses what that is correctly gets a cookie) MEANING IT HAS SMUT~ YAAAY!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers & Hetalia: World Series, nor do I own "A Coward's Happiness" and the stories therein. They are owned by their respective owners, and I merely write and worship those creators' genius. That is all._

_Message me for link to the actual doujinshi that inspired this series._

**_WARNINGS: _**_Contains:_

Anal - Anal Sex

Angst - Torment/Anguish

BDSM - Bondage/Discipline/Sadomasochism

Bi - Bisexuality

Blood - Violence to the point of drawing blood

Fingering - manual manipulation of the sexual organs

H/C - Hurt/Comfort

HJ - Hand Job (manual stimulation of one partner's sexual organ)

M/F - Het (heterosexual relations)

M/M - Slash (Male/Male relationship)

OC - Original Characters

Oral - Oral sex

RapeFic/Non-Con - where one of the characters is sexually assaulted

Rim - Rimming (To perform anilingus on)

Solo - Masturbation

Toys - Sexual toys

UST - Unresolved Sexual Tension

Violence - Story contains violence/blood/gore/etc.

Voy - Voyeurism

* * *

><p><strong>Bohra Series 2a:<strong>

**A Slave of Love**

**Chapter Two: "Home"**

Blast it all. Damned that Alfred and his incessant nagging and questioning and pestering! Who the bloody hell did he think he was anyways? What business of his was it what went on in Mr. Bonnefoy's home? And why did he care so much that Arthur MIGHT (and that was the operative word in that sentence) like Mr. Bonnefoy a LITTLE BIT. But only a little. That was it...Right? Gah! He shouldn't be thinking such serious things when there was so much he had to do!

A deep breath in...A deep breath out. Yeah, that was it... Calm, think calming thoughts. There was no sense in letting himself get all riled up. That's probably what the yank wanted anyways... He fumbled with the keys in his hand when he approached the door, all of his collected possessions in his arms making the task of unlocking the door cumbersome. A clang and Arthur was quickly cursing the day, banging his head into the reinforced door.

"Fuck. My. Bloody. life." was his only mutter, and he dropped a few of the things he carried, picking the keys up and unlocking the door in an awkward transition which nearly catapulted him onto the floor as it swung open quickly.

"Reinforced my ass!" He screeched, scooping everything up and rushing inside before he could really cause unwanted attention to himself from the neighbors. With a deep breath in through his nostrils, Arthur suddenly felt at ease, the comfort of being home washing over his aching muscles.

It had been a long day, and the interrogation he had to suffer from Alfred earlier did not help his situation at all. And to top it all off, Alfred had taken up so much of his time that he had accomplished absolutely nothing of all because of that twit. No, now was not the time to think of such things; he was home, and there was so much housework he had to catch up on. The laundry needed to be done, the kitchen needed to be reorganized, there were several things out of place that should not have been- It really was a good thing that the Brit enjoyed house-work, or these things would never get done.

It wasn't as if Mr. Bonnefoy couldn't do these things for himself, not that at all. He was just constantly busy, if not doing business for the sake of his clubs, then doing business for the sake of his other investments, which ranged from Fashion to cuisine. Yes, in this town, Francis Bonnefoy was the closest thing to monarchy that they had, his fame surpassing most of the celebrities who lived there. Everything he touched seemed to turn to gold, from people to restaurants. So it was only natural that he wouldn't have time for things like housework and chores. And that's why he had Arthur around, to do those things for him. Yeah, that was the reason. And if there was one thing that Arthur was good at, it was housework. Yet he always had a problem with figuring out what to start with.

Quickly assessing the house, he took off is suit coat and tie, hanging them up neatly on a hanger. In their stead, he had tied an apron around his waist and neck, smoothing the canvas fabric.

"The kitchen." He mused, rubbing his hands together absently, "And I guess since Mr. Bonnefoy is out, I really don't have to worry about dinner tonight, so I can focus all my time on organizing."

A smile graced his face and he kicked off his shoes by the door, a habit he had learned from an old friend. With his shoes arranged neatly at the door, he finally made his way to the kitchen, trying to evaluate how much time it would take to do damage control.

"Sometimes it's like I'm not behind him cleaning everyday. Like really, I never- Oh well, if I must, I must."

A quick push of the sleeves, and Arthur began to work diligently; cleaning the floors, washing the dishes, scrubbing the windows, and emptying the fridge was just the beginning of his night.

Time passed rather quickly, and in an hour's time he had gotten quite a bit done. The kitchen was as clean as he could possibly get it, the dishes were running in the dishwasher, and nothing was out of place. Yet in the hustle of trying to get everything in order, he had not noticed the front door open. Nor did he notice Mr. Bonnefoy saunter in and lean against the door frame, the stench of a night's drinking trailing behind him. Arthur didn't have the time to notice, for the brit was in his own world of cleanliness and solitude, and nothing would distract him. Nothing, that is, until the older cleared his throat, the lack of attention irritating him. Arthur yelped, dropping the glass that was in his hands.

"M-Mr. Bonnefoy!" He turned on his heel quickly, mouth wide as he stumbled to find the words he wanted. "W-what are you doing home? You said you weren't coming home this evening!"

"So you are telling me that now not only am I not welcomed in my own club, but I am also not welcome in my own home! How mean of you!"

Arthur sighed, shaking his head when his boss slipped into his native French. Mr. Bonnefoy only slipped into French like that when he was drunk or angry, and judging by the fact that he wasn't cowering in fear, Arthur felt that he could safely assume that Mr. Bonnefoy was drunk. The stench of alcohol only confirmed that fact.

"What I meant was that you weren't supposed to come home. There's nothing ready to eat, and the house is a mess!"

"Peu m'importe."

How was it not important? The house was an utter mess! Arthur sighed and pouted, shaking his head as he walked by the taller man. An agitated scowl replaced the usual lackluster grimace of the employer as he stared hardly at his employee and housemate. He took a deep breath in, shifting to lean on his left leg so that he could better access the stainless steel cigarette casing in his back pocket. Without a word Francis opened the case and took out one of the French-imported cigarettes, and he lit it to take a much needed drag. Slowly, the nicotine rushed through his system and the smoke filled his lungs for a quick moment before being exhaled in one long exhale.

Arthur scowled as he watched his landlord smoke. Francis kept his eyes on Arthur, studying his expression carefully. After a few more moments of silence, Francis sighed and flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette.

"What is wrong now?" he asked mockingly, taking an exaggerated drag of his cigarette.

"You said you wouldn't smoke in the house." Arthur replied in a sharp tone, turning towards the fridge. He quickly looked inside before grabbing a few things to prepare for their impromptu dinner. He ignored the pouting Frenchman as he passed him and walked towards the counter, setting the raw foods down so that he could go wash his hands.

"So, you're saying that I'm not allowed in my club, I am not allowed in my home, and that if I am home, I cannot even smoke? Surveillant d'escalves!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. He didn't need a working knowledge of the French language to know he had just been insulted.

", I am not saying any of those things. I just wish you would stop surprising me with your visits when I should not be expecting you. It does not look good on my part when nothing is ready for you."

The Frenchman scoffed and stumbled further into the house. "That!" He began, taking off his suit coat. "Arthur, stop calling me all the time! At work it is fine but not at home as well! It makes you sound so distant! At least you would call me Francis before!"

He had now come to loosen his tie, letting it hang limply off his neck before his long fingers released the first few buttons of his shit to allow his skin to breathe. He had staggered to the cough, flopping onto it loudly to express his displeasure yet the sight of this childish act brought a smile onto Arthur's face. Really, sometimes Mr. Bonnefoy could be so frivolous...

"That will not do, sir" the Englishman replied, turning the stove top on and putting some onions into the frying pan, "That won't do at all. I have to keep it clear. I am merely an employee of yours. It is not needed for me to speak to you with that kind of familiarity-"

"How boring." was his only warning before he felt strong arms wrap around his shoulders and a weight against his back. With wide eyes, his actions halted, making him at the complete mercy of his would-be assailant. He couldn't face Mr. Bonnefoy.

Slowly, Arthur turned his head to look at the other, his own fern green eyes failing to raise and meet the other's. He could smell the lingering alcohol on 's breath, and the scent mingled with the strong scent of the French cigarettes, creating an enticing scent that could only be 's. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe; Arthur took in a deep breath and he took in the scent, his head spinning as the intoxicating sensation flowed through his veins.

'How could another man have such alluring lips? Is this scent what he would taste like? Is this what tastes like? His lips look so kissable...hell; I wouldn't mind all that stubble if I could just sneak a kiss and get a taste-'

The Londoner felt his face heat up as the blush came. What had he been thinking? How could he think that? WHY would he think something like that?

"Hurry uuup," the older whines, leaning heavily into his younger counterpart, "I'm so hungry right now that I could stomach anything that you could cook up!"

Arthur returned to his senses and pouted, turning back towards the food on the stove. Francis squeezed his shoulders tightly in an attempt to get his attention. Arthur shivered and gasped, turning to softly push the other away.

"H-how mean of you to say." was his stammered rebuttal. "I will be done soon enough, so please go sit down and relax sir."

Francis watched as Arthur turned his back on him, and he remained silent. Tension between the two quickly rose, and the alleviate it, Francis decided on a nice glass of wine. He walked back into the parlor, sitting in his favorite leather chair and he sighed. His mood was now spoilt. Arthur in return sighed and shook his head. Really, sometimes he couldn't understand that man.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get out! Between work and school, I am DEAD! Anyways, this is a fanfiction based offa a FABULOUS (and ORIGINAL…well original as far as I know) doujinshi by the marvelous Bohra Naono, called "A Coward's Happiness". This fanfiction is centered and based on the second and third story in that doujinshi called "A Slave of Love" and "Revenge of Love"._

_Alright, let's see, this is a FrUK, AmeriCan (that is what I call AmericaxCanada xDD), and lotsa other yaoi-ness and smutty-ness. And there are a few OCs in later chapters, I will have their bios up so you're all not like WTF. AND THIS IS A FREAKIN' PAMPLEMOUSSE (anyone who guesses what that is correctly gets a cookie) MEANING IT HAS SMUT~ YAAAY!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers & Hetalia: World Series, nor do I own "A Coward's Happiness" and the stories therein. They are owned by their respective owners, and I merely write and worship those creators' genius. That is all._

_Message me for link to the actual doujinshi that inspired this series._

_**WARNINGS:**__Contains:_

Anal - Anal Sex

Angst - Torment/Anguish

BDSM - Bondage/Discipline/Sadomasochism

Bi - Bisexuality

Blood - Violence to the point of drawing blood

Fingering - manual manipulation of the sexual organs

H/C - Hurt/Comfort

HJ - Hand Job (manual stimulation of one partner's sexual organ)

M/F - Het (heterosexual relations)

M/M - Slash (Male/Male relationship)

OC - Original Characters

Oral - Oral sex

RapeFic/Non-Con - where one of the characters is sexually assaulted

Rim - Rimming (To perform anilingus on)

Solo - Masturbation

Toys - Sexual toys

UST - Unresolved Sexual Tension

Violence - Story contains violence/blood/gore/etc.

Voy - Voyeurism

* * *

><p><strong>Bohra Series 2a:<strong>

**A Slave of Love**

**Chapter Three: "Those Little Things You Do"**

It was one of those nights that Arthur just knew at any moment the building inspector would be knocking on the door of the club to let them know they had far exceeded the max amount of people allowed in at one time. The number of people actually in the club would make any Hollywood party look like a simple casual gathering of friends, and the line of people outside stretched well down the street, to the point where the line actually stretched well down the road and around the corner. Yes, this was going to be one long night. Inside, the guests and hosts/hostesses were exchanging awkward greetings and forced conversations, trying to mask how uncomfortable they all really felt at being in such close quarters. Yet the employees of "Escape" were skillfully distracting those who had managed to snag them, taking their minds off the lack of elbow room and urged them to buy drinks and relax.  
>Even the owner was there that night, sitting in the VIP section with three gorgeous women hanging off of him, laying their claim on the Frenchman for the night. A man like Francis was hard to find; he was only thirty-three years old, yet he had wealth and fame, known to those as "The Hugh Hefner of the New Generation". Money, power, influence, charm, and youthful good looks were all his hidden aces. He might have been thirty-three, but the man did not look a day over twenty-six. On his chin was a soft, blond beard; on his head, amber-colored silken locks that curled slightly towards the end. His eyes were of a Majorelle hue, like walls of Majorelle Gardens in his beloved home country, and his skin was a pale ivory color. He was, himself, a very VERY attractive man who kept himself in the best of shape, and wore the clothes that made him even more irresistible to either sex. Yet none of this made him happy, at least, not at the moment.<br>Sitting in the company of the three beauties, he was distracted, and rather angry. But there was no reason for his anger, well, as far as he knew. What reason did he have to be angry? Everything was going smoothly. The clients were happy, the hosts and hostesses were charming and attractive. So what the fuck was wrong? He sat there, an ominous air about him, his face contorted in a menacing glare of disapproval, and his eyes followed each and every person who passed him by. No, not even in the company of beautiful women would his mood be lifted. Gilbert, who was his childhood friend (and the top host of Escape) sat across from him, in the arms of an older man, who simply went by the name of Fritz.  
>"You know, <em>Mister<em> Bonnefoy," began Gilbert, who inched further away from his own client and closer to the owner of the club, "It is very hard to work and enjoy the pleasing company of our clients when your ominous presence is suffocating us!"  
>The blonde's head snapped towards Gilbert's direction, eying the crimson-eyed man dangerously. Yet the four guests laughed, pulling the two hosts close to them and distracting them with soft caresses.<br>"It is fine Gilbert," spoke the first woman, who had platinum blonde hair and went by the name of Marie, "he is most certainly not ruining my night."  
>"Nor is he mine," agreed Fritz, who pulled Gilbert closer into his arms, "so forget about him and focus on the task at hand, <em>ja?<em>"  
>It was no surprise that Francis was not paying attention to any of this, for he could and would not be bothered from what he was doing. Nor did he realize that the cigarette currently hanging from his lips was very close to its filter, ashes threatening to fall any moment. No, his Majorelle eyes had found and followed the form of the manager of the club. Arthur was scurrying about, as usual, trying to keep the club running and everything going smoothly. Francis didn't realize that he was following Arthur's every move, yet at some point during Arthur's routine , Alfred had snuck up on the brit, laughing when he nearly caused Arthur to fall over in fright. The two exchanged some words and laughed a bit (much to Francis' chagrin), and then Alfred pushed a small bag into Arthur's arms, gaining a smile from the recipient and a glare from Francis.<br>His patience was running thin, and he was honestly debating on whether or not he should call Arthur over, when the second (and youngest) of the three women crawled into his lap. She was small, with a boyish haircut and a pixie-like face. To those in the club, her name was Jeanne, and no one knew her real identity, for that was the allure of Escape. Become someone else. Live the life you want, for one night. Jeanne pouted, looking into Francis' eyes as she brought her hand to his stubbly chin.  
>"Francis~"<br>"What are you-"  
>"You seem so distracted today..." She whined, leaning into him more, "I thought we were your favorites."<br>"Of course you three are." replied the Frenchman, trying his best to turn on his charm. In one fluid movement, he replaced his spent cigarette with a fresh one, the stick hanging wantonly from his lips. "How could you not be? Any man would be crazy for not wanting to spend his night with you."  
>Ah, there it was, the smile that made women (and men) melt. He did it well, and he knew it, for it was his trademark. Yet Reinette, the last of the women, would not be swayed so easily. She took the cigarette from his lips, smirking as she leaned in close.<br>"Surely we three are more than enough to distract you from whatever or..._whoever_ is bothering you." She whispered in his ear, before tracing his jawline with soft kisses. He was unaffected however, once again finding Arthur in the crowd, his anger flaring when he realized Alfred was still talking to him.  
>"Arthur." He couldn't stop himself.<br>And Arthur, ever the loyal employee, was before him, head slightly bowed and awaiting orders. "You called for me sir?" He asked, not daring to look up at the man who had called him.  
>Even before Francis could answer, the would-be conversation was interrupted by Alexio1 , a tall, dark Portuguese man who Francis had employed not even a week previous.<br>"E-Excuse me Mister Manager Kirkland, I need your help with something," whimpered Alexio in his thick accent, already feeling the pressure and weight of Francis' terrifying presence.  
>"One moment, Alexio." The manager looked to his employer expectantly, waiting from him to say something.<br>Yet, this only further annoyed Francis, and he waved the two off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Get back to your work, the both of you."  
>Bowing, the two in front of him left quickly, Arthur looking back quickly at the Frenchman, eyes longing for something unknown, and he quickly left.<br>"Poor Francis~" Marie cooed, bringing the attention of the older man back to the situation at hand. With a smirk, she let her hands wander to his thighs, leaning further into him. "Maybe I can console you~"  
>"Console? Why would I need to be consoled?"<br>"Well, wasn't it Arthur who made you angry and kept your attention from us?" Jeanne chimed in, letting her hands explore the man's broad and well toned chest over his light-weight silk shirt.  
>"Arthur?" questioned Francis, whose whole air seemed to sharpen in defense. "What makes you think of him?"<br>"Well, then focus on us, _mon cher_~" Reinette whispered, turning his head to look at her before pressing their lips together in a kiss. It took him a moment, but he responded, and she knew she would be the one to go home with him tonight. The other two whined, yet accepted their defeat, leaving to two to their devices.  
>"Shall we...go then?" the woman asked under her breath, standing and pulling him along after her. Without hassle or delay, the two found themselves in the back of Francis' car, en route to his luxurious (and shared) home.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get out! Between work and school, I am DEAD! Anyways, this is a fanfiction based offa a FABULOUS (and ORIGINAL…well original as far as I know) doujinshi by the marvelous Bohra Naono, called "A Coward's Happiness". This fanfiction is centered and based on the second and third story in that doujinshi called "A Slave of Love" and "Revenge of Love"._

_Alright, let's see, this is a FrUK, AmeriCan (that is what I call AmericaxCanada xDD), and lotsa other yaoi-ness and smutty-ness. And there are a few OCs in later chapters, I will have their bios up so you're all not like WTF. AND THIS IS A FREAKIN' PAMPLEMOUSSE (anyone who guesses what that is correctly gets a cookie) MEANING IT HAS SMUT~ YAAAY!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers & Hetalia: World Series, nor do I own "A Coward's Happiness" and the stories therein. They are owned by their respective owners, and I merely write and worship those creators' genius. That is all._

_Message me for link to the actual doujinshi that inspired this series._

_**WARNINGS:**__Contains:_

Anal - Anal Sex

Angst - Torment/Anguish

BDSM - Bondage/Discipline/Sadomasochism

Bi - Bisexuality

Blood - Violence to the point of drawing blood

Fingering - manual manipulation of the sexual organs

H/C - Hurt/Comfort

HJ - Hand Job (manual stimulation of one partner's sexual organ)

M/F - Het (heterosexual relations)

M/M - Slash (Male/Male relationship)

OC - Original Characters

Oral - Oral sex

RapeFic/Non-Con - where one of the characters is sexually assaulted

Rim - Rimming (To perform anilingus on)

Solo - Masturbation

Toys - Sexual toys

UST - Unresolved Sexual Tension

Violence - Story contains violence/blood/gore/etc.

Voy - Voyeurism

* * *

><p><strong>Bohra Series 2a:<strong>

**A Slave of Love**

**Chapter Four: "Toyland"**

It had been quite a stressful day at the club. Arthur didn't know what exactly was made today different from other days, but there was an unsettling sensation festering in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what it was. He just knew that something, some little thing was off. A quick shake of his head, and Arthur dismissed the feeling. He didn't need the stress of some unknown event that may or may not happen added onto the superfluous amounts of stress he had from his daily life. What he needed was a tall glass of scotch and a good book to settle down with. That sounded absolutely perfect. The Brit smiled a bit, hastening in his way home. It had been such a lovely night that he had decided to walk home, enjoying the night sky and the cool air. Wandering the gridded streets, Arthur mused to himself about the day's events, recalling every little detail over and over. The crinkle of brown paper in his bag brought him from his thoughts and Arthur looked down at the package in his hands, chuckling a bit.

"Really, I wonder what this could be." He thought aloud, looking towards the home he had shared with Mr. Bonnefoy. "Well, I will find out soon enough, won't I?"

In a few short strides the Englishman was standing in front of the door, fishing in his pockets for the key to get inside. Mr. Bonnefoy had left Escape early tonight, so the chances were good that he would not be home until very late that evening, if not inhumanly early the next morning. And Arthur was glad about that. For some reason, whenever Mr. Bonnefoy was close by, Arthur felt like his heart would burst from pounding so hard and so erratically. Besides, coming home to an empty house wasn't always so bad. He might even be able to finish the housework that the older Frenchman had distracted him from last night.

Mindlessly, Arthur turned the knob to the door, opening it quietly out of habit. Just as silently, he closed it behind him and kicked off his shoes, stripping out of his jacket one arm at a time so he could keep a hold of the mysterious gift. Next, he loosened the knot of his tie so that it hung loosely on his neck, undoing the first few buttons as well. He looked round the house, blinking for a moment. Odd. He didn't remember leaving the house with the hall light on.

'_Oh well,'_ he contemplated innocently, '_I must have missed it this morning in my rush to leave. But now it is time for that scotch-"_

_Thump Thump Thump_

Arthur's posture stiffened, the very air seem stolen from his lungs. Was there a burglar inside the house? He scrambled quickly and soundlessly, following the sound of the noises to their origin. With ninja-like skill, he made it up the stairs without alerting the would-be intruder. He discerned that the sound was coming from Mr. Bonnefoy's room, and with renewed vigor, he inched his way to the door. He would teach this thief the repercussions of stealing from this house. He noticed light coming from inside the room, and he shook his head.

'_Really. Some people are such ponces.'_

"A-ahn~"

The man halted in is pursuit forward, the sudden noise taking a moment to register in his brain. That…didn't sound like a would-be robber. As if possessed by some unknown force, the Brit found himself again shifting onward, kneeling in front of the cracked door and peeking inside. He took a deep breath, not seeing anything at first, and maneuvered himself to get a better view. That's when he saw it. Francis was naked, and was in the middle of having sex with one of the club's regular clients, Ms. Reinette Poisson. The Frenchman had her bent over on all fours, slamming into her roughly. She of course was moaning and squirming and clinging to the sheets tightly, enjoying every second of his ravishing. Her smaller frame arched upwards into him, craving the contact of his warm skin.

Arthur sat in shock, paralyzed and dazed as he watched. Wait. WHY was he watching? What kind of pervert was he? He had better-

"F-Francis~ you're going so hard today~" Reinette cried out in utter ecstasy, moving her hips to meet his movements. Francis said nothing in return, his only response slamming into her even harder as if she were not a lover but a toy made specifically for the purpose of pleasing him. This was not the gentle, passionate love-making Arthur had heard so much of. This was pure carnal instinct, the thrill of it escalated by the sheer rush of it all. Arthur was unable to look away, his eyes locked on the sight of Francis, watching his muscles move fluidly, the sweat causing his skin to glisten in the dim light. The Englishman couldn't help but admire the other man's body, wondering what the skin felt like and how hard those muscles actually were.

For some reason, he could feel heat pooling in his groin, the extremity there aching to be touched. His face flushing, he scrambled to his room, clutching the paper bag close to his chest. What was going on? Why was he getting turned on by...by THAT?  
>"C-calm down old boy," he whispered into the dark hallway, finally making it into his room, "There's no reason to get so...so worked up over it. You knew Mr. Bonnefoy would bring a...a...lover...home..."<br>A strange sensation built in his chest and Arthur leaned against the door, taking in a deep breath. Something in his stomach was still doing flips, his mind's eye replaying the lewd scene over and over. There was something about seeing that he couldn't place...Was it the sight of the woman writhing beneath Mr. Bonnefoy? Yes. That must be it. Seeing her squirming and crying out in pleasure from being pounded into another universe by Mr. Bonnefoy...Mr. Bonnefoy and his thick- WHOA! Why was he dwelling on THAT?  
>He needed a distraction, something to take his mind completely off of sex and the like. He leaned forward, the paper bag once again crinkling in his arms and he smiled. Yes! Perfect! The gift Alfred had given him would be perfect to get his mind on something else. Making his way to his bed, Arthur recalled to himself when Alfred actually handed him to gift, swearing the manager to wait until he arrived home to open it. Honestly, Alfred could be-<br>The clinking of plastic against plastic caught his attention, and he looked down at the contents of the bag sprawled across his bed.  
>"W-what is this?" Arthur cried out, jumping two feet back as his face heated in a blush. Delicately balanced on top was a letter, and Arthur could tell that it was Alfred's writing.<p>

_'Dear Arty, _

_I hope you enjoy these toys. I had originally bought them for my lover, but obviously that didn't work out. I've got no experience with men (cause you know I was boss with women), so I bought these to try and make things easier for Matt, but he got really angry with me. Dunno why. I just thought they would help him get used to it. Anyways, these were really expensive, and they are all still new. So it would be a waste to throw them away, right? Then I thought, hey! Arty probably could use these so that he won't scream like a little girl the first time Mr. Bonnefoy fucked him! Cause dude you are TOTALLY a bottom. And I mean I heard some of the women talking and they say Mr. Bonnefoy is like... HUGE. I mean, I am big, don't get me wrong, but DAMN! Mr. Bonnefoy sounds like a BEAST! So yeah, hope you like them!_

_Good Luck, _  
><em>Al<em>

Toys. Alfred had given him toys. Not _just_ toys. No, why would they be just toys? But, Alfred being Alfred, they had to be (of all things) sex toys. And A LOT of them. None of them the same. Arthur didn't even know what half of them WERE let alone what they did.  
>"Bloody baboon! Who the hell does he think he is? And what the hell are these? Next time I see him!" Deep breaths. Deep breaths... "Damned brat...he's too brazen. All he thinks about is his lover..."<br>Once again, Arthur was reminded of a rising problem, and he bit his lip, eyeing one of the toys. That one was...pretty small... He shifted, hand inches away from the small, plastic egg. "N-No! What am I thinking?"  
>Reading! Yes, Shakespeare could take his mind off of this! Now. If only he could move. But... Biting his lip once more, Arthur's gaze returned to the toys laying on his bed, taking the egg in hand, working the wire free. "Th-this looks small...A-and if I don't do anything...I-I won't be able to do anything all night...j-just a few minutes couldn't hurt...right?"<br>He grew nervous, his fingers trembling as they trailed to the buttons to his pants. He could feel his cock aching to be touched, rubbing against the silk fabric of his boxers and pressing into the firm fabric of his pants. He allowed himself to breath comfortably, his breathes rolling out pant after pant. There was no turning back; he needed gratification, and he needed it now.  
>Quietly, he unbuttoned his pants, squirming out of them. He gasped as the cool air hit his hot member, and he blushed, climbing into his bed and snaking out of his boxers. Some primitive instinct washed over his senses, for he soon found his hand enveloping his weeping member, using the pre-cum to ease his clumsy movements. When he gained a steady rhythm, he pressed the toy to the pursed skin of his hole, his whole body tingling in excitement. His natural resistance pushed back, but soon he had pushed the egg inside, his eyes grew wide at the unnatural feeling. He felt his whole body tense, his breath hitch, and his cock grow harder. It was all so new, so exciting and he could hardly breathe. Arthur let his body adjust for no longer than a moment before he took the controller of the egg in hand, turning it on. The vibrations from the small toy pulsated through his body, and his eyes widened, his back arching up for an unknown and unseen partner. He closed his eyes and let his fantasies take him and suddenly, Mr. Bonnefoy was over him, smirking as his wet tongue traced the shape of his penis. Arthur didn't fight it and let his mind entertain him with thoughts of Mr. Bonnefoy licking him and preparing him for an inevitable escalation of passions. His rhythm broke; suddenly, it all had become so important to follow this wonderful sensation, leaving behind hesitance and prudence to enjoy the moment. His mind's eye only saw the sight of the dirty blond looking up at him and pleasing him, his cock hardening at the very thought. The pitch of his voice grew higher, his muscles tightening as his inevitable climax drew near. As quick as it had begun it had ended, his muscles spasming as he reached his peak, his seed staining his sheets rather quickly. His fantasy lover disappeared, leaving him behind the empty room, his heavy breathing echoing and the thick scent of sex lingering in the air.<br>Arthur panted the after-effect of coming washing over his senses as he turned the toy off and slowly pulled it out. He stared at it for a few moments, trying to register everything that had happened.  
>"No..." He finally said, head tilting to the side, "his is definitely bigger... Would...would he even fit?"<br>It was at that moment Arthur's sense of self returned, and the blood that had been returning to his system rushed to his cheeks. Sheepishly, he threw the toy across his room, sitting there as he shook his head fast. That damned Alfred.  
>"Or perhaps it is me who's the dunce..." Arthur sighed, pulling his legs close to his chest. "That damned Alfred...gives me such odd things..." He said allowed to no one before quickly bouncing to his window to open it and ventilate the room. He took a deep breath in of the cool fresh air, pulling on a fresh pair of boxers and a pair of pajama pants. "I guess I am doing laundry tonight," he mused comically, getting all of his dirty clothes together. Little did he know that Francis had been standing outside his door and had heard the whole thing, an angered grimace plastered on the man's face.<p> 


End file.
